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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26374267">connect</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldpalace/pseuds/emeraldpalace'>emeraldpalace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:48:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26374267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldpalace/pseuds/emeraldpalace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Miya Atsumu and the value of connection. </p><p>Originally written for Ukiyo: A Pretty Setters Zine</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kita Shinsuke &amp; Miya Atsumu, Miya Atsumu &amp; Miya Osamu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>connect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s tossed to Osamu so much that he long lost count of how many times they tried to get this spike to work, but Atsumu refuses to give up on it, no matter what.</p><p>The adult setter laughs at him all throughout, even as Atsumu starts to feel restless and Osamu, the meanie, threatens to go practice with someone else soon.</p><p>“You really want to toss to your brother, huh?” the setter asks him.</p><p>“Yeah, setting is really cool!” </p><p>He chuckles again, ruffling Atsumu’s hair. “That makes me pretty happy. C’mon, try again,” the setter says and throws the ball easily towards Atsumu, and he tries again, forms his hands in a triangle, the ball coming down just on top of him—and it flies flat and far, all the way to the neighboring court.</p><p>“<em>Tsumu</em>!” Osamu whines, “Why are you so dumb!?”</p><p>“Hey, I’m tryin’ here!” </p><p>“Easy, easy,” the setter says to both of them, and then crouches down next to Atsumu. </p><p>“I noticed that you stick your thumbs out pretty far, it’s better like this,” he says and turns Atsumu’s smaller hands outward, so his thumbs are almost touching his nose. “After all, you need all ten fingers to support a spiker with, yeah?”</p><p>Atsumu hums in acknowledgement, and concentrates on his hand, trying to  remember the exact positioning. </p><p>“And it’s better if you set the ball really high, even if it's not perfect, alright? It’s much easier to hit that way.”</p><p>“Okay!”</p><p>The setter throws Atsumu the ball again, just as perfectly as before, and Atsumu tries again—thumbs in front of his nose, triangle shape, and then tosses the ball as high as he can—</p><p>It almost feels like slow motion as he watches the ball go high, high, high enough to block out the ceiling lights for a moment. Osamu starts running, and Atsumu takes a step back when he realizes that the ball is almost perfectly on top of him—and then his brother stops right next to him and jumps, hitting the ball perfectly over the other side of the net.</p><p>They look at each other with mirroring starry eyes, gasping. </p><p>“That was so cool!” Atsumu exclaims.</p><p>Osamu is smiling just as brightly, even as he says, “Make it further to the front next time!”</p><p>Atsumu would argue with him in any other circumstance, but his fingers are already itching to try again, to the point where he just calls an “Okay!” and runs off to get the next ball from the cart. </p><p>It takes another eleven tries for it to work again, though one time was because Osamu missed and hit the ball into the net. Aran-kun comes by and tells them to practice with the other kids already, and they tell him that they’ll do it when it works out again. It takes them eight tries the next time. And then two after that.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s their first year of middle school and they’re still young enough to be trying out different positions for themselves, but Atsumu has known for close to three years now—he wants to be a setter, he <em> will </em> be a setter, or die trying.</p><p>Osamu, on the other hand, has always wanted to just be a spiker, which is why Atsumu is even more annoyed when his brother gets to play as a setter for the team first. Still, he continues tossing the ball to himself, to the wall, onto plastic bottles, even going so far as to ask his teammates to practice with him, even if he knows that they don’t like him anyway.</p><p>“C’mon, that was perfect!”</p><p>“I’m <em> tired,</em>” his fellow clubmate groans at him. “I’m not gonna do anymore, get real.” </p><p>“But don’t you wanna get better too?” Atsumu asks.</p><p>“Yeah, but it’s just volleyball, y’know? I’m not gonna go crazy over it. See ya.” </p><p>Atsumu watches him go away and as soon as the gym doors close behind him, he takes a ball and smashes it to the ground with a yell. It bounces off, once twice, maybe a dozen times, each getting shorter and shorter, and then he runs after it and throws it as far as he can, almost into the wall at the opposite side of the gym. </p><p>What the hell!? Going crazy over it? What’s the damn point of playing if you aren’t trying your best, trying to improve no matter what? Something deep and visceral aches in his chest, rips at his throat and his heart, and he has no choice but to try and shake it off, do whatever it takes to get ahead, with or without stupid, lazy people. Hell, he’s probably just better off without them anyway. </p><p>No point in waiting for other people if they're not good enough to keep up with him anyway.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Ugh, why won’t they let me play already,” Atsumu groans. “Like, I’m clearly the best setter we have!”</p><p>“Cause no one wants to play with some first-year who tells off the senpai all the time,” Osamu replies easily.</p><p>“I just want everyone to play at their best! They’re old enough, they should be able to take some criticism,” Atsumu reasons.</p><p>“Yeah, but you’re being a dick about it.”</p><p>“<em>You </em> don’t care about how I say things!”</p><p>“Cause I’m used to you being an asshole,” Osamu says shamelessly. “But no one likes people who just order others around all the time. How players get along affects how the team plays as a whole,” he continues fake-wisely, and Atsumu hates how he can see the reasoning behind it, but he still crosses his arms and huffs.</p><p>“Well, I’m not wrong, am I? If the senpai just played at their best all the time, and if I was the main setter, we could really win nationals—”</p><p>“No one’s gonna play at their best with an asshole who thinks he’s better than anyone else!” Osamu snaps.</p><p>“Fine, then I just won’t play with anyone anymore!” Atsumu yells at him. “See if I care!”</p><p>Osamu gapes at him.</p><p>“…You’re quitting the club?”</p><p>“Yeah!” he exclaims, much less certain than the first time.</p><p>“… Fine, do what you want,” Osamu says with aggravating ease.</p><p>“What, you think I ain’t gonna do it?”</p><p>“Nah, you love volleyball too much for that.”</p><p>Atsumu takes his pencil sharpener, and throws it as his brother.</p><p>“The hell!?”</p><p>“Just you wait, I’m not showing up to practice tomorrow! Or ever again!”</p><p>“Yeah, ‘cause I’m gonna kill you before that—”</p><p>Atsumu is a man of his word and diligently ignores his alarm the next morning, as well as Osamu needling him about going to practice, burying further into his blankets and pretending to sleep—probably not very successfully, but his point gets across.</p><p>He arrives at school at a disorienting 8am, barely greeting his classmates, and shoots down any conversation related to volleyball they might start with him—which, turns out, is all he ever really talks about. Damn it.</p><p>“Miya-kun, someone’s asking for you!” A classmate calls out during lunchtime, and Atsumu is genuinely surprised to see Kita-san standing there, waiting for him with his unreadable gaze.</p><p>“What’s up, Kita-san?” </p><p>The second-year looks up at him, but the intensity of his gaze makes Atsumu feel small all the same.</p><p>“Are you really quitting the club?”</p><p>“Uhm—yeah!”</p><p>“You don’t sound sure about that.”</p><p>Atsumu freezes, and looks away right afterwards—it’s not like he can say anything to that.</p><p>“I noticed that you’re frustrated because the coach doesn’t let you play on the team yet, and that the third-years don’t appreciate your critiques of them. You think they’re being unreasonable and don’t want to bother playing with them anymore, right?”</p><p>“… Well, something like that,” he mumbles.</p><p>“So you just decided to quit the club entirely?”</p><p>Atsumu can’t quite tell if it’s an accusation or not.</p><p>“…What’s the point of being in the club if I can’t play?”</p><p>“So those who don’t have a chance at becoming regulars are just wasting our time?”</p><p>“I mean, I don’t care about what other guys do, but I wanna play in real games,” he replies defensively, even as he feels a pang of shame.</p><p>“And you think the best way to get there is to stop playing?”</p><p>Now <em> that </em> feels accusatory, and Kita-san smiles at him in an eerily cheeky way. Atsumu feels trapped, because deep down he knows that it was probably a dumb idea all along—but he wasn’t ready to be confronted with it so soon.</p><p>“You can do what you want, obviously,” the second-year continues, “but you might as well join afternoon practice, if you already brought your sports bag.”</p><p>“H-huh? How do you know that?” </p><p>“I saw you shove it into your locker before class,” Kita-san replies lightly, but continues with his oddly mature seriousness. “Still, you are important to the team, and it would be a great loss if you left for good.”</p><p>“The third-years don’t see that,” Atsumu pouts.</p><p>“They do, they just don’t want to admit that you’re right.”</p><p>He whips around. “I know, right!? So—” </p><p>“But a spiker should also be able to trust their setter, and you’re not trustworthy to them.”</p><p>“They know how good I am!”</p><p>“They’re still people who have feelings and personal opinions, and you should take that into account.”</p><p>“...You don’t seem to have feelings,” Atsumu mutters despite himself.</p><p>“Of course I have feelings,” Kita-san says with a straight face, and Atsumu feels himself shrinking down under his gaze.</p><p>“Well, I can’t force you,” the second-year says and turns to go away, “But it would be a shame to give up something you love that easily.”</p><p>Atsumu frowns. “Why does everyone keep saying that I love volleyball so much?” </p><p>Kita-san looks at him with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>“Is that not the case?” </p><p>Atsumu feels like a deer in headlights, wants to protest, but the words stay lodged in his throat, heavy and ugly, the tell-tale signs of a lie.</p><p>Kita-san smiles at him. “See you at practice.” He walks away, leaving Atsumu shaking in the hallway from pent-up emotions.</p><p><em> Damn it</em>, he thinks, and all but sprints downstairs to get his bag.</p><p> </p>
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